Poetry

To be a heron

hone the art of stillness,
balance on limbstem in green shallows,

at the margins of minnowed rivers,
silvered estuaries, stickleback streams.

Stand in timeless pose on stone
or on whalebone struts of abandoned boats,

a ghost the colour of cut flint
clouded in sun-sparked Ephemera.

Shade-cloak water with outspread wings.
Reprise primeval origins in kink-necked flight.

Stir silt with splayed feet
panning for invertebrate glints.

Focus gold and sloe eyes
on dart and glide in trailing weed

and having by heart the laws of refraction,
pierce surface deception with sabre beak.

Jenny Donnison